'I had a dream about you the other day,' she says.
'I had one about you too.'
'A pretty raunchy one, I bet?'
'Could be,' I admit. 'But it was just a dream. What about yours?'
'Mine wasn't raunchy. You were in this huge house that was like a maze, walking around, searching for some special room, but you couldn't find it. There was somebody else in the house, looking for you. I tried to yell a warning, but you couldn't hear me. A pretty scary dream. When I woke up I was exhausted from all that yelling. I've been worried about you ever since.'
'I appreciate it,' I say. 'But that's just a dream too.'
'Nothing bad happened to you?'
'No, nothing bad.' No, nothing bad, I tell myself.
'Good-bye, Kafka,' she says. 'I have to get back to work, but if you ever want to talk, just call me, okay?'
'Good-bye,' I say. 'Sister,' I add.
Over the bridge and across the water we go, and I transfer to the bullet train at Okayama Station. I sink back in my seat and close my eyes. My body gradually adjusts to the train's vibration. The tightly wrapped painting of Kafka on the Shore is at my feet. I can feel it there.
'I want you to remember me,' Miss Saeki says, and looks right into my eyes.
'If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.'
Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to slip through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won't be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there-to the edge of the world. There's something you can't do unless you get there.
It starts to rain just after we pass Nagoya. I stare at the drops streaking the dark window. It was raining the day I left Tokyo, too. I picture rain falling in all sorts of places-in a forest, on the sea, a highway, a library. Rain falling at the edge of the world.
I close my eyes and relax, letting my tense muscles go loose. I listen to the steady hum of the train. And then, without warning, a warm tear spills from my eye, runs down my cheek to my mouth, and, after a while, dries up. No matter, I tell myself. It's just one tear. It doesn't even feel like it's mine, more like part of the rain outside.
Did I do the right thing?
'You did the right thing,' the boy named Crow says. 'You did what was best. No one else could have done as well as you did. After all, you're the genuine article: the toughest fifteen-year-old in the world.'
'But I still don't know anything about life,' I protest.
'Look at the painting,' he says. 'And listen to the wind.'
I nod.
'I know you can do it.'
I nod again.
'You'd better get some sleep,' the boy named Crow says. 'When you wake up, you'll be part of a brand-new world.'
You finally fall asleep. And when you wake up, it's true.
You are part of a brand-new world.
